


Debriefing

by Callie4180



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Moran is a creep, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 10:04:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3724819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie4180/pseuds/Callie4180
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written at the 221B Con Flash Fiction (18+) in 20 minutes, with minimal editing. The prompts were: Pub, "What did you tell him/her," Overstimulation, Sherlock, Moran (thanks for that last, Mydwynter. Thanks a lot).</p>
<p>The dub-con here is implied and past-tense, and there is some discussion of disturbing power differentials. There is also mild reference to domestic violence in an established relationship. That's a lot of drama for 20 minutes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debriefing

Sherlock crossed his legs and sipped his whiskey. The pub was loud enough to muffle their conversation, but quiet enough for confidences.

“What did you tell him?” Sherlock asked.

“The truth,” Moran answered.

That was unexpected. Sherlock raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Really?”

“Of course. He would have known if I’d been lying.”

Sherlock frowned. “True. All right. So you told him…”

“I told him it was too much.”

“Exactly those words?”

“Yes.”

“You told him you’d been…”

“Successful in finding you? No. I’m not an idiot. I wasn’t literal.” Moran smirked. “I just said it was too much.”

“Ah. So you implied _he_ was too much.”

“Yes.”

“Clever.”

Moran tipped his glass in acknowledgment. “Thanks.”

Sherlock took another sip of whiskey as he considered the man across the table. The truth was much more complicated. The night before, Sherlock had found himself finally, hopelessly trapped by Moran in an alley. He'd realized Moran had been tracking him for days, if not weeks, and Sherlock had evaded several confrontations with an increasing sense of desperation. Moran was always watching. Sherlock had done his best to avoid being alone and therefore vulnerable, but the night before, behind this very pub, he had thought his time was up.

“Moran, why did you do it? Why did you let me go?”

Moran grinned a sly, predatory grin. “You don’t remember?” he said.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Don’t be obvious.”

Moran didn't react, just considered him over the rim of his glass for a long moment. “I should tell you, because you really don’t get it, do you. You don’t know. And you’ll know if I’m lying, just like he would. God, the two of you.”

Sherlock stared, suddenly unable to look away.

Moran chuffed a short, humorless laugh before he continued. “You’re what he wants. You're _all_ he wants, you know?” He leaned forward. “The one thing he can’t have, and he thinks of nothing else. You’re his fucking wet dream, and, well. There you were, at my mercy. You knew I was there to kill you. And suddenly I realized, I realized I could have you.”

Sherlock flushed and looked down.

“I looked at you there, afraid, proud, and I could taste his obsession. I knew I could have what he _craves_. I could fucking WIN for once. Not just be his puppet, not his toy, but his better in this one way. But I’d only win if you walked away. If you remembered."

Sherlock cleared his throat. “I see,“ he said, his voice thick.

“No, I don't think you do. Because you accepted my offer like you actually had a choice. And, Holmes, you are beautiful. Christ. You’re _beautiful,_ and knowing that he would give anything to have you like that, and that he would see me dead for it if he ever knew, Jesus...”

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Enough.”

Moran leaned back in his chair and regarded him, his eyes still narrowed with intensity, but an amused smile on his lips. “Yes, it was. It was more than enough. I've never come that hard, ever."

“Just stop. Please.”

Moran lifted an eyebrow, but pressed on. "And you know what? Between you and me..." Here his voice dropped to a stage whisper. "...I can still feel you. I will never forget. Never."

Sherlock took a deep breath and looked anywhere but at Moran as he regained his composure. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet. “So where did you leave it with him?”

“I told him you had escaped again. He was angry, but he’s always willing to believe you’ve outwitted me. It’s kind of sweet, really. So I let him rant for a while. He hit me a couple of times, nothing out of the ordinary there, but not being able to come at his hand was different, I’ll admit. You really put me at risk, there, Holmes.“

Sherlock quirked a tiny, sad smile. “I won’t apologize.” 

“No, of course not, and you shouldn’t. It was completely worth the risk.”

Sherlock sighed, but he had to know. "Moran, you'll never tell."

“No, and neither will you.” Moran took a sip of his whiskey.

“And where does that leave us now?”

Moran smiled and looked at him with hungry eyes. “Well, as of tomorrow morning, back in the hunt.”


End file.
